Justified
by Nichts
Summary: Schuldig has craved a relationship with Crawford for as long as Schwarz has existed, but the one that he gets may not be one he can handle.
1. Prologue

disclaimer: I don't own anything. Not a single thing. Well, that's not true. but I don't own Weiss.  
  
warning: darkness, angst, swearing, references to sex (yaoi), all the fun stuff.  
  
notes: This is my first attempt at fanfiction, so it might suck. It also might get really long. It may seemed cliched at first, but its not. Really. I swear. Comments are appreciated, both bad and good.   
  
Justified  
  
  
  
His back is to me. The moonlight that streams through my window illuminates my room enough for me to see his movements. He quickly pulls his clothes on and stands up. I watch him walk to the door, the soft light shining against his black hair. He opens the door, and without a look back, exits my room, shutting the door softly behind him.  
  
  
  
The room is quiet for a minute, and then illuminated momentarily as I light my cigarette. I take a long pull off it, and then watch as the smoke drifts lazily towards the ceiling.  
  
It has been like this for a month. Or has it been longer? I've lost track. Every night it is the same thing. He comes in, we fuck, he leaves. Its simple, really. I have done it to many people myself.  
  
So why does it bother me?  
  
He told me the first night that it would be like this, that I am just a quick fuck for him. I told him I knew that. I told myself I didn't care. I told myself it didn't matter. I told myself thats all I wanted anyways. I am just getting what I want, what I have wanted all along. Sex is all that matters.  
  
I am such a liar.  
  
I have never wanted anything more than sex. I always thought I was incapable of anything more than that. And now... the one time I have ever wanted anything more, I cannot have it. I cannot really have him. And it hurts. 


	2. Drug Store

warnings: language, references to sex, yaoi  
  
disclaimer: don't own anything  
  
retarded notes: i uploaded this chapter and noticed some big formatting problems, but was too tired to fix them. i then forgot about them until just now, so i fixed them and reuploaded.  
  
/blahblahblah/= telepathic communication. just so we are clear on that.  
  
Justified  
  
*Five weeks earlier*  
  
-------  
  
  
  
I hate the sun. Really, I do. It's on my list of things I would destroy if I could. It's a short list, but the sun is on it. I can feel the sun on my face, and its seeping through my eyelids. I am not sure, but I think it was the sun that woke me up. Too bad I left the curtains open last night.  
  
  
  
Last night...  
  
  
  
I think it was a good night. I don't really remember. But judging by the size of my hangover, it was a good night. I struggle with my hazy memories for a minute before giving up. I don't really care.  
  
I lay in bed for a few more minutes before coming to the conclusion that I'm not going to be able to go back to sleep. I open one eye experimentally, and then close it quickly as the sunlight causes my hangover to become much, much worse.  
  
  
  
"Fuck."  
  
  
  
I instantly regret saying it, because it sounds like shouting in my throbbing head. I opt for a different method of complaining.  
  
  
  
/Fuckfuckfuckfuck/  
  
  
  
I broadcast the complaint to the other members of the house. Loudly. If I have to suffer, I am going to make sure I am not alone.  
  
  
  
/It's about time you woke up./ Nagi sounds a little more stressed than usual.  
  
  
  
/Love you too, bishounen./  
  
  
  
/Don't call me that, asshole!/ The exchange is a normal part of our mornings.  
  
  
  
/Schuldig. Quit whining and get out of bed. Now./ That is not a normal part of our mornings. What is Crawford doing home?  
  
  
  
/Ja wohl, mein fuhrer!/ Despite my snappy answer, I stay in bed, wondering. Our current employer, a pompous European asshole by the name of Leonard Winchester, demands that Crawford accompanies him to the office at 7:00 every morning. So why is he still home?   
  
  
  
I open my eyes slowly, groaning at the pain it causes my head, and glance at the clock. 7:36. I sigh deeply and begin the horrid process of getting out of bed. Since Nagi is so stressed out, I decide to keep up a running stream of swear words and comments directly in his head. It's not like the kid can block it out, and unlike my other two teammates, he gets annoyed.  
  
  
  
Finally managing to get out of bed, I snag some jeans and a shirt off the floor, and pull my hair up into a sloppy ponytail. I take a look in the mirror next to my bed, and smirk at my reflection. I really look like shit, and I need to take a shower. That can wait until after my third or fourth cup of coffee, though.  
  
  
  
I wiggle my fingers at my reflection in a sarcastic wave, and head for the kitchen.  
  
-------  
  
Fuck Crawford. Fuck him. I hate him. How the fuck can he do this to me? He is such a bastard. Well, he is a sexy bastard, but that is still a bastard.  
  
  
  
I look into my rear view mirror and sigh. At least he gave me time to take a shower before sending me on this job from hell. I only got one cup of coffee, though.  
  
  
  
Ever since the fall of Esset, we have been working for various employers as both bodyguards and assassins. Our newest employer, Mr. Winchester, is the owner of a large European business that recently relocated its headquarters to Tokyo. He has some unsavory connections to some rather shady organizations, and due to his extreme stupidity and some inner-company politics, he fears for his life. So he hired Schwarz to work as bodyguards and to take out potential enemies. Yesterday a threat was made against his one remaining family member, a 15 year old daughter named Elizabeth. That is where I get screwed over.  
  
Since Bradley is too busy spending time with Winchester to watch his daughter too, and Nagi has to go to school as much as possible, I get the honor of being the personal bodyguard for some 15 year old teeny-bopping twit. What do they think I am, a fucking babysitter?  
  
  
  
I came up with the brilliant suggestion that we give the job to Farfarello, but it was met with two glares and an enthusiastic, "Her death will hurt God!" I was then told to stop whining, get ready, and be at the Winchester mansion at 8:00.   
  
  
  
I hate my life.  
  
  
  
I think I hate Crawford more right now.  
  
  
  
I still want to fuck him, but that doesn't change the fact that I hate him.  
  
  
  
Bastard.  
  
  
  
I put one of my favorite cds into my car's cd player and turn the volume up all the way. I swerve into the right lane as Stabbing Westward comes blaring out of the speakers. It's the only American music I like, and I know all the words. I sing along loudly as all the cars in the right lane begin to move over to the left. I make sure I have cleared everyone out of my lane, and then I push my car as fast as it will go. I really love driving.  
  
-------  
  
I open the door to our apartment wearily and let it shut behind me with a soft click. I lean my back against it and close my eyes for a minute, enjoying the fact that my day in hell is over. If I didn't have such a shitty headache, I would go out and get trashed. Maybe I will stay home and get trashed anyways.  
  
I open my eyes, slip off my shoes, and head in the direction of the kitchen, all the while quickly scanning the minds of my team mates. They already ate, Nagi ordered Chinese take-out. Now the brat is in his room, doing something on his computer. Typical. Farf has been sedated and locked up for the night, and Crawford is in his office. We converted one of the four bedrooms into a study for him, and Farfarello gets the big room with strong locks at the end of the hall.  
  
I grab one of the little Chinese boxes out of the fridge and open it up to see how much is left over. Satisfied with my findings, I warm it up, grab a bottle of vodka and a shot glass from my hidden stash, and begin my nightly ritual of getting trashed.  
  
-------  
  
Forty-five minutes, one box of take-out, and ten shots later, I stumble into my bedroom. Or is it nine shots and one hour later? Who the fuck knows? Certainly not me. I manage to get all the way inside the door before falling. Luckily, I fall in the direction of my bed and land on the soft mattress face down. I think I will sleep in my clothes tonight. My clock blinks it's green numbers at me. 11:45. Or is it 1:45? Who the fuck cares?  
  
I roll over onto my back, groaning as the room swims in front of my eyes. I didn't plan to get this trashed. Especially while drinking by myself. Actually, it has been a long time since I got drunk by myself.  
  
It is during this sluggish contemplation of my new anti-social drinking habits that I notice him standing there. He is in my doorway, watching me with a slightly amused expression on his face.  
  
I try to say something clever and sarcastic, but I am too drunk and too surprised to manage anything besides opening my mouth dumbly.  
  
And as I lay there on my bed, gaping at Crawford, he walks over to stand next to my bed.  
  
And then the unthinkable happens.  
  
His mouth is on mine, rough and demanding.  
  
Everything I always fantasized it would be. 


End file.
